Circadian Rhythm
by katiebugbug86
Summary: For the first week of dirty December...! Katniss can't sleep, Peeta helps best he can.


Sleep is hit or miss, not as dependable as she'd like. Some nights, Katniss sleeps like a child- her hands folded beneath her face, her body curled onto itself. She is vulnerable, naïve, trusting. There is no thrashing or screaming- only a feeling of wake and then it is tomorrow, a period of what could be death for all her awareness in between. Other nights, Katniss catches on dreams like she were falling from a tree, each branch a separate nightmare, one she stupidly grasps for, if only to prevent herself from seeing the one below. There is no rhyme, no reason: it is not the moon nor the alignment of the planets. Sometimes it's the games. Sometimes it Prim. Sometimes it's the thought of Peeta falling asleep and never waking up.

Katniss tries. She runs harder, hunts longer, takes up knitting lumpy polyhedrons to keep her drooping eyes awake until sleep is not a choice, merely an ultimatum. She slips into bed next to Peeta- snorteling, drooling Peeta- and rues his ability to sleep. His mass takes up the bed- not maliciously- he's just bigger than her, sturdier than her, used to dominating over a small mattress, not like this one. Not one belonging to the Capitol, all soft sheets and decadent pillows and lofty blankets. He's splayed down the center, a position that she might consider comical if she weren't so damn envious of his sleep. She curls into herself and waits for Peeta to stir. Like a heat-seeking missile- like those fireballs, she shivers- he wraps himself around her, looping her braid around his fingers.

"Katniss?" he asks softly, eyelids flickering up over sleepy blue eyes.

"It's okay." She returns. "Just go back to sleep."

"What's wrong?" his voice is insistent. Katniss is dismissive, whispers meaningless platitudes. I'm fine. I'm just tired. He brushes a kiss to her neck, just below her ear. Katniss looks at him, grey eyes pensive.

"You're not fine." Peeta is assertive, awake now. He knows that sleep doesn't come easily for Katniss- when it does, it is often laid with traps- her watching Prim die, except sometimes Rue is Prim too. She tried to explain to him once, through tears, the cast of her nightmares. He knows much of the fodder, but some of it just Katniss, turning scenarios over in her mind.

"Katniss, you need to sleep."

Her eyes are sharp now, her voice high, sarcastic. "Really, you think?" she swallows, too tired to not rise to the challenge, all hope of a rational discussion gone, her voice cracking in anger. "You think I don't know? You think I don't try? I wish I could sleep just like you- like I didn't have a care in the world…" There's an air of resignation in her voice now. "Peeta, I'm just so tired. I can't fall asleep."

He knows. He often wakes to discover Katniss battling demons within in her dream arena, one where he can't protect her. She fears for the children she doesn't have, for the family they have lost. For Gale, for Finnick, for Prim, for Rue, for Peeta and lastly, herself. She has tried herbs, she has tried sleep syrup. She has tried the fancy Capitol medicines with their mile-long warning lists. She has tried white liquor and chamomile tea. Peeta reaches for her, instinctively reaching one hand to her hardened shoulder and pressing his face against her tightened back.

"Katniss." He sighs.

She turns back to face him, scowling "What." It should be a question, but with the tone of her voice, it is not. It is indignation, a little want, exhaustion. It is Katniss, through and through.

"Let me help you." He replies. Katniss sighs like she has no choice- she knows exactly where this is going. She hates his devotion, his ability to leave her breathless, to push her into dreamless sleep with just his fingers and tongue and cock. Her eyes drop to his trousers, teeth teasing her lip. He is already partially erect, his pants tented. She looks back up, quickly, hoping to avoid his attention, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

He grins impishly, raking his fingers back through his blond hair. Katniss is already softening; her shoulder sloped against his hand, her back curving against his face. He turns, presses his mouth to her back, a simple kiss. "Let me take care of you." Katniss nods, agreeing. He knows the terms- they pretend it doesn't happen. He pretends it is heartless, only to achieve release. She pretends it is a way to help her fall asleep- that it doesn't matter, that is has no effect on her.

Peeta knows the truth. He sees is in the day to day, when Katniss returns to his home at night instead of her own, depositing her game bag on the floor and sneaking behind Peeta to steal a taste of whatever he is cooking. He sees it at night, when Katniss tucks herself, impossibly small, against his body. In the morning when Katniss can't sleep, he can practically feel her pent up energy, her stare, as she sits- no sprawls, knees up and bare feet playing with the curtains- in the armchair next to the fireplace, radiating confusion and anger and tiny bits of desire. He knows. And he'll wait.

In the interim though, he'll play on Katniss' terms. He strips her of her shirt, deft fingers cupping and squeezing her breasts. He pulls at her nipples- always gently to begin and she arches her back, playing with her bottom lip. He knows what she wants to say – or is trying to say. She would never admit to wanting. She wants to be taken, for him to fuck her. She wants his hands, rough on her, his cock, deep inside her. She wants no pity, no love, only distraction. Peeta can't wait for the day when there is love inside this sex. He knows it's not today- it's not what Katniss needs, and he always gives her what she needs.

He reaches for her face, holding it firmly between his hands. She fights to escape, but he knows it's just the game. It's incentive for him to hold harder, to insist on a kiss, not to offer one. She slides her lips against his: this is what she wants. She is soft, pliant, wanting, her cheeks pink with desire and her grey eyes overshadowed by her pupils. He tucks his face against her ear, biting it gently, growls, "what do you want?"

Katniss is defiant. She'll never give him the response he wants to hear. She ducks her head, her hand fidgeting with the end of her braid, and Peeta is blown away, his cock impossibly hard at this small display of submission. He wants to see her unravel in front of him.

He's behind her now; sleep pants around his thighs, pushing her forward onto her hands and knees, sinking in to her roughly. She collapses onto her stomach in response, breath hitching and hips betraying her satisfaction. Peeta is biting his lip, thinking of anything- dirty laundry, showering Haymitch- that distracts him from this sight. Katniss is beautiful, pale, arching spine and grasping hands. He is inside her. He leans forward to kiss her shoulder and she hisses angrily. He recoils in response, couldn't imagine doing something she didn't like. The meaning is implied- kisses are for lovers. This is a diversion, a distraction. Not love.

He hears a quiet please. It's all he'll get. He knows Katniss hates asking, hates that he does this for her, that he has this power over her. But it keeps her close, and that's what he wants. He slides his cock back into her and she gasps again. He starts a punishing rhythm, in and out, feeling Katniss beginning to shake and clench around him. She is muttering, her back flushes, and he whispers into her ear- about how she's going to cum for him, and how he loves her around his cock, and how good she looks and how he loves her and-

His orgasm surprises him, racing through his body, and he is breathless and laughing all together. Katniss looks at him, no shock at his proclamation of love. Instead, she gestures to herself- a wave indicating that she's not finished, that while Peeta has enjoyed her orgasm, she hasn't gotten hers.

Peeta flushes, embarrassed- he likes to feel her cum around him- and pushes her down onto her back, spreading her legs, his fingers dipping inside her. Katniss moans, her hips bucking and Peeta leans over her. "You going to cum for me?"

Katniss nods quickly.

"Tell me." He commands. She ducks her ahead again, avoiding eye contact. Peeta takes her face in his hand and her gaze lifts. Her eyes are dreamy, unfocused, pupils huge, her lips open. He presses his lips to hers, again- something she only allows when she's distracted- and tells her how he wants to see her come, wants to see her eyes, wants to taste her. She jerks, her entire body flushed and gives a breathy moan. "I'm going to, I'm going to…" she repeats herself.

Peeta grins, the cat that got the canary. He gets to watch this, Katniss coming undone in more ways than one. "You're going to what?" he asks. She bucks her hips one more time in response and orgasms, her body releasing all the tension it had held. She smiles, shyly, at Peeta and his heart melts.

Her eyes begin to droop immediately. "I'm so tired." She slurs.

Peeta nods, swallowing around a lump in his throat. "I know, Katniss. Sleep well, I'll see you in the morning."

Katniss drops quickly into sleep. There are no night terrors tonight. It's Peeta's turn to sprawl in the armchair by the fire, watching Katniss sleep. His heart breaks as he watches her reach for him in sleep, settling finally on a pillow. He slides behind her, reaching his arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. Katniss settles into him, pressing her soft back against his chest.


End file.
